


Open Secret ~ 1651

by steelneena



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Extreme Major Spoilers For Season Three And Series Finale, F/M, I may have watched some unreleased episodes..., Post-Season/Series 03, including the finale obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an open secret in the court that the Queen had taken a lover, and that this lover was the First Minister of France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Open Secret 1651: Part 1, Louis-Dieudonné, King of France XIV

**Author's Note:**

> EXTREMELY MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE AND THE SERIES FINALE  
> I watched the (then and currently) unreleased episodes of season three, so I've already seen the series finale.  
> Like three times.  
> Oops.

1651~

 

It was an open secret in the court that the Queen had taken a lover, and that this lover was the First Minister of France. It was an open secret and everyone at court knew except the King.

Louis was only thirteen years old, and his dear mother, Queen Anne, was still regent. That would change, Louis knew, on his sixteenth birthday, but until then, his mother’s word was law. And until three days ago, he was perhaps the only one in court unaware of the relationship between his mother and the First Minister. Three days ago he'd discovered it. He’d been traipsing about the gardens, alone for once, when he’d heard the courtiers talking in low voices.

 _The First Minister?!_ Louis’s brow contorted.

The First Minister was called Aramis. Louis knew for as long as he could remember the man. His mother told him that the First Minister knew him well as a babe in arms, but Louis could only recall him from the hazy time after he and his mother left the big church. It was shortly after his father’s death, he knew, though he exact reason he was there was lost on Louis. Somewhere along the line, it had become obsolete. He’d been told that on the occasion he asked the First Minister if he was to be a new servant. At the time the First Minister was a simple musketeer. Louis found it hard to fathom. The stoic, calculating Minister, a Musketeer! But his mother never had to remind him that the First Minister was also kind and patient and gentle and played with and taught Louis endlessly over the years, nearly fulfilling the role that the late King, his father, once would have.

Yes, First Minister Aramis has been like a father to him. 

But even through all this Louis finds it hard to imagine that his mother and that mysterious man are _lovers_.

Louis knew more than he most likely should about physical intimacy - he once spent a little too much time hiding from one of tutors with d’Artagnan before Madame d’Artagnan found out and had him drug back to the Queen. It had been an educational afternoon. Later that day he heard the First Minister admonishing the Captain of the Musketeers for the indiscretion. It had sounded quite serious but there was a certain tinge to the man’s words that Louis recognized as humour.

So, consequent of that afternoon, he knew what it meant when he overheard the courtiers whispering in the gardens while his mother, the Queen, and the First Minister were taking a stroll about the gardens behind the Louvre.

 _“It's an open secret after all. She's had him. Who knows for how long! It’s simply scandalous but they are both beyond reproach you know. Oh yes, but she's definitely has_ **_had_ ** _him!”_

Once, Louis would have wondered what on earth _had_ meant in the context of that sentence but d'Artagnan had been unfortunately thorough in his afternoon's worth of carnal education.

The queen and the First Minister of France were lovers. And everyone knew. Everyone but him.

For three days the young king had spent an ungracious amount of time observing his mother and the First Minister, watching their every move in both public and private. They were familiar with one another, that was to be sure. His mother's eyes danced when the First Minister smiled at her and he always lingered when he pressed a kiss to her hand. Neither did he bow so low as was proper- rather allowing his gaze to rest on her even then.

That was in public.

In private was a different matter entirely.

Louis nearly always dined with his mother, and the First Minister would join them five out of seven nights. He had for as long as Louis could recall. They laughed and had jokes and spoke of both serious and pleasurable things at turns. Always, Louis found, he was included, equally by both persons.

It was the First Minister who had taught him to ride and to shoot and fence.Together the First Minister and the Queen had taught Louis to speak Spanish passably. Together. It was the First Minister who had asked the Queen to help with lessons on politics and foreign relations until he turned eight and he was deemed old enough for a special tutor to be brought in. So had ended his lessons with the First Minister, and had begun the daily regime of the Vicomte de Villeroy, who wasn’t at all horrible. But it had lessened his time with the man, to whom, at the time, Louis had been particularly attached. 

Yes, the Queen and the First Minister were together in all things. Straining, Louis tried to recall a time when he'd witnessed them fighting and was left with nothing. If they fought they did it in such utter privacy that he was never privy to it. In the end, after much debate, Louis decided that it couldn’t be so unbelievable, that the First Minister and the Queen were lovers. For one brief, fleeting moment Louis considered that he knew all along what it was like to have a father.

The contemplation brought him to an even more terrifying, wondrous thought, one he never would have considered without the knowledge that the First Minister and the Queen are intimate; perhaps he had never been fatherless after all.

Seeing the thought through to completion left Louis breathless in a way he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. The First Minister, who began a mere musketeer, could be his father! How long had this affair, this open secret, been going on? Louis wasn’t sure that the answer would be the same on both counts. It was a frightening prospect to be sure and it sent him reeling, full of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He reeled.

 _Aramis_.

It was a rare day that Louis ever used the First Minister's name. He tried it, rolling the letters over his tongue.

_Aramis._

Steadfast, Louis determined to watch and wait, to see what else could be gleaned.

The answer to that, it turned out was much. All it took was an accidental opening of the door to his mother's chamber one evening after he'd woken from a strange and frantic dream.

For there in his mother's bed, lay the First Minister of France.


	2. Open Secret 1651: Part 2, Anne of Austria, Queen Regent of France

1651~

 

It was an open secret in the court that the Queen had taken a lover, and that this lover was the First Minister of France. Anne knew that she was the least concerned between the two of them. Aramis remained nervous, for, though he finally seemed to settle into his role as the First Minister, he still held onto his fear that their secret would be discovered. That secret of course, was Louis. Despite his fear, Anne remained sure of herself. It had been years since her husband's passing and she was secure in her place as Regent, in her place in the hearts of the people as a beloved Queen of France. With Aramis by her side, a constant measure of support, affection and love, she felt comfortable for once with her lot in life.

Anne was confident and radiant and _in love._ She simply bloomed with it, she knew. With his acceptance of the position in her court, she had been like day and night; the Queen had gone from isolated and lonely, to vibrant and strong willed. Though each day was no longer akin to a wedding night, their passion for one another had never cooled, but rather matured, bringing with it a keen understanding of one another that no one else shared. She thought, fondly, that anyone else would be hard pressed to say that they knew Aramis quite like she. Even Porthos now came in second place on that front, much to his chagrin. 

Aramis has calmed and the years of politic and intrigue and war council left him with a mysterious air, turning his boyish charm dangerous. There was a feline grace to him, which Anne believed he always had but through time and practice, he’d refined it to a simple art. With ease, her lover could slip in and out of his politician’s skin. Indeed, Aramis had mastered the arts of the court and become all the more dangerous for it.

But he was still cautious - overly so, in her opinion - when it came to the fact that they had behaved husband and wife in all but name since he had come to the palace to take his position as First Minister of France. Every night - minus a few here and there in lieu of other duties and family matters on both their sides - they had slept in the same bed, shared breakfast, sometimes lunch, and a regularly scheduled dinner. Together they had raised their son, together they ruled France, together they had awoke each morning and would continue so to do until death.So had been their conviction, part of the vows they made before God and eachother, in the quiet privacy of her chambers. Rarely, were they ever parted.

So Anne felt secure. The open secret of their ongoing affair didn’t bother her because it was just that: an open secret. One of which the whole court was aware but of which no one dared speak in more than hushed tones, or acknowledge with more than a knowing glance. When the courtiers became aware of it, Anne could never be certain, but she rested comfortably in the knowledge that though it had been some years since the first rumours had surfaced, no one had ever questioned Louis’s heritage. It was a blessing in disguise that their son looked so little like Aramis, despite having taken on many of his personality traits. Any similarities could simply be attributed to the large role Aramis had played in his life, and would continue so to do.

At first, they were both hesitant to re-establish the relationship they'd once shared. Nearly four months passed before they had been comfortable enough to pursue intimate relations, though they had been sleeping regularly in her bed for two months prior.  Simply being near one another was enough and they'd spent those nights talking, catching up on all that had happened in the four years Aramis had spent at the monastery in Douai, speaking Spanish with one another, telling youthful stories and simply holding one another in contentment.

The day they'd first shared her chambers Aramis told her that he loved her. He had said it before, back when Louis was just a babe in her womb, but that evening he had spoken with such utter conviction that she'd felt her heart flutter in a way that felt like she was going to physically die. All the had hoped for, but never dared dream could be true, was at her fingertips. Aramis was hers, wholly and irrevocably. They were going to raise their son together. They could live in peace. All those things had rushed to the forefront of her mind in the moment he’d once more uttered his devotion to her. Even the idea that she was so completely loved was beyond anything Anne had felt before knowing Aramis, or since.

 _Mi amor, mi corazón, quierda._ The endearments were endless. Anne never grew tired of hearing them, for they were ever spoken with sincerity. She never grew tired of seeing his face when she awoke, of falling to sleep in his arms, hearing his heart beating as she lay her head upon his chest, of hearing him speak about anything and everything, of tracing her scars with butterfly light touches of her fingertips. Of him watching Louis, guiding him, teaching him, loving him as a father to a son.

This was the future for which they had given their very blood. This was the cause for which Anne knew Aramis would gladly have given his life.

_My strength and my heart._

He'd promised to be their son’s most faithful servant, to give blood and sweat and breath that Louis might be King, that he might live to reign justly and peacefully. But, despite all this goodness and happiness one dark spot remained, and would forever remain.

Anne’s ultimate punishment for the sin she had committed - _they had committed,_ Aramis had oft admonished her -against her late husband and against God.

Never would their son know his true father. 

So it was beyond Anne's contemplation when, one evening, Louis burst into her (their) chambers without knocking, to find her already in bed with a dozing Aramis.


	3. Open Secret 1651: Part 3, René d'Herblay, alias Aramis, First Minister of France

1651~

 

It was an open secret in the court that the Queen had taken a lover, and that this lover was the First Minister of France. Aramis was terrified. Of course, the years had made he and Anne more complacent, less careful with their secret as they became settled into the new life they led. So many things had changed so quickly, that at first, Aramis felt like he was floating in a dream. He’d left the Abbe and returned to his life as a Musketeer. Louis XII died shortly thereafter. The Dauphin was made King. Treville had gone from Captain to First Minister to Regent to the grave in a matter of years. Porthos was the General du Vallon, and a married man with a babe in arms, d'Artagnan had made Captain and Athos had left Paris indefinitely at the prospect of becoming a father.

Aramis felt as though he’d been left behind in the wake. The Queen’s offer hung in the back of his mind for less than a day after Porthos and Athos had departed before he’d sent word to her of his acceptance. It made sense, after all, that a man of his profession take over where Treville had left off. It wasn’t suspect at all the the Queen’s favoured Musketeer be promoted to First Minister of France. No indeed. He’d never managed to quell the lingering fear that they’d be discovered. That Louis would be displaced from his regency apparent, that Anne would be disgraced. That he would certainly be hung should their indiscretion ever be discovered was one thing that didn’t bother him.

Once, Aramis had gladly vowed to give life and limb for the Queen, for the then Dauphin, should they ever require it. Still, he held that vow in his heart. Anne and Louis were more precious to him than all of France, much less his own life. Everything mattered very little without them. And so, he had accepted the position which would allow him all that Louis had declared that day at the mausoleum would be denied him, even in the wake of the late King’s death. He had daily, near constant, contact with the Queen and the Dauphin, and, arguably, besides the Queen herself, Aramis played the largest role in the young King’s life.

Many other duties accompanied those which involved the Queen and their son, duties which nearly overwhelmed him at the beginning. He was the First Minister, and as such, was essentially in charge of running the war (and, still in secret, brokering peace, though he no longer went himself to deliver messages of parley written in the Queen’s fine hand). He’d been thrust abruptly into politics and he’d been lucky enough not to be chewed up and spat back out by the brutal savagery of the court. His naturally confident posture and bearing was a facade that served him well over the years, protecting him from their initially hard looks and scorn. He was a low born man, a soldier, and he was invading their territory, their private circles. 

They were respectful to him, certainly, but it was only out of deference to his title and to the Queen Regent. It had brought them closer together in the end, for Aramis found that he could understand her plight far better. She’d been alone and derided, hated for being Spanish born. He could now sympathize entirely. His former station in life, his own heritage, his inexperience with politics, it all built up until he could hardly take it any more. It hadn’t helped that he and Anne had not quite had the time to seclude themselves, to discuss everything that had happened, to make a decision as to where they intended to go. Their looks had remained heated, and their emotions heightened despite the years, perhaps even as a result of them. They still connected, even though they were both profoundly changed, Aramis by his time as a monk and Anne through her experience as a mother.

Four years was a long time to miss in the life of a young boy, and Aramis felt the loss of that time acutely. His son, his dear son, whom he could never claim, had been just beyond babyhood when he had left, and when he was returned the boy was grown into a little person who could _speak for God’s sake!_ and he’d been so ashamed that he’d run. Even for his oath to God, Aramis could not deny that he’d run from them, run from his sin, from the consequences of his thoughtless actions. Yet, for all the anguish they had caused, he could imagine no life where his son had not been born, where he did not love Anne with all his heart.

Eventually, they had come together and emptied their souls to one another. Long nights were spent in a mutual caress. Aramis held Anne close, desperate and gentle all at once, like the tender light of the moon as it fell upon her cheeks and lit upon her hair while she slept.

He loved her. He loved her more than he could articulate, more than he could understand. Anne was like no one he had ever known, and he thanked God that she gave him love in return. He prayed often since leaving the monastery, and it became something they did together, part of the vows they had jointly made, to thank God for being merciful to they, the undeserving sinners. For their crimes, they knew, they would forever live in apprehension, but their blessings were numerous.

They made vows before God and one another, to love and honour eachother, to live as husband and wife, faithful and obedient and caring to one another, and to raise their son to be a good and faithful christian, and a fair and just ruler. And, one final agreement had be reached, whoever would die last, would tell him the truth, when they themselves lay upon the deathbed. Aramis could not fathom living without Anne, though he suspected that she would soldier along without much difficulty should he pass first, but she’d admonished him severely, and banned him from calling her ‘Majesty’ unless in public. All his deference their near joint rule was to her, of course, and, privately, he joked that she would always rule his heart, if not his mind. This was how their disagreements always ended, in gentle laughter and smiles that reached the eyes.

So life fell into routine and he adapted into his role as politician, as a leader of France, as the First Minister, as a father, and as a husband, while never leaving behind that which had made him who he was. The Musketeer remained, to defend the honour of the Queen Regent, of the King, of France herself. And the Monk came forth in moments when he was needed to mediate. The gentle patience he had learned in the Abbe came in handy as often as his marksmanship and sword skills honed as a Musketeer, and Anne was his heart in all things. His partner and lover and Queen.

Theirs was a tender love, and he felt its immensity like an overwhelming wave for the first month or so, disbelieving that they would be so lucky as to share a bed every night without fear. Soon, it became normal, but none the less a blessing, that daily he thanked God that he was lucky enough to have.

It was as close to wedded as they would ever come, sans the permission of their son, whom they knew they could never ask. Louis remained blissfully ignorant of their ongoing liaison, despite the court’s awareness, and they tried not to count the days until he would inevitably discover that portion of their secret.

That day was sooner come that Aramis could ever have guessed, as, one evening, after agreeing that Anne would wake him after she read in her novella for an hour, he was abruptly shook awake and ordered to _get up Aramis!_ only to roll over and see, standing in the doorway of their chambers, his son, Louis XIV, King of France.


	4. Open Secret 1651: Part 4, La Famille

1651~

 

It was an open secret in the court that the Queen had taken a lover, and that this lover was the First Minister of France. It was an open secret and everyone at court knew including the King.

 Perhaps it was better said that no one in court knew it so well as the King.

 The dream was quickly forgotten. Louis stared openly at his mother, who stared back with eyes wide, like a startled deer. Beside her, face down, lay a man. His hair was dark, and longish, and his back tanned against the pristine sheets.

 Finding herself, Louis’ mother dropped her book unceremoniously, put one hand on the man’s back and _shook_.

 “Get up Aramis!” She hissed in a voice just above a whisper. Abruptly, the First Minister of France shot up, lifting himself with the weight of his arms. He rolled, still surprised and rumpled from sleep, to a sitting position and blinked blearily.

 “Anne, what-” The moment his eyes focused, Louis noted, the First Minister swallowed his words. Shock spread across the man’s face and all three of the room’s occupants held their breath. The tension was palpable.

“Louis, I…” The Queen began, but Louis held up his hand and she cut off as if she’d lost the ability to speak altogether.

“Mother, Minister,” He nodded in turn to both of them. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,”

The First Minister blinked again, but this time in surprise. The King turned to go, but the Minister’s voice filled the room.

“Louis,”

His name, and nothing else, from the lips of the First Minister. To his memory, Louis couldn’t remember ever hearing the man call him by anything other than a formal title, as of course, was proper.

“I’m going to pretend that I never saw you here, Minister d’Herblay. Please, do continue. Mother, I will see you in the morning,”

Days went by and nothing was said. His mother was still the calm, every steady presence, and he was still the King, but the First Minister… There was a hitch in his breath, trepidation in his eyes, and care in every step he took around the King, every word he said, every move he made.

“Minister?” Louis asked him in the middle of one of their private meetings, which had grown quite tense. “Perhaps we shall address the elephant in the room, and then we might get back to business as usual?”

“My King,” The Minister inclined his head in deference. “As it please you,”

“It please me to have an answer to the next question I pose you,”

The Minister held himself like a cornered feline. Wary, every muscle tense.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes,” The answer was a blunt as the question, and more fearless than Louis had expected.

“Then we have no quarrel,”

The tension didn’t abate there and then, but, over the next few days, things more or less went back to normal. On the matter of his parentage, Louis refused to even acknowledge the possibility, though the look that the First Minister sometimes got in his eye when he was particularly proud of Louis finally made sense. It was for the best, he told himself, that not even he knew the truth. He could guess at it, oh indeed, but he didn’t need to know for certain. Things were always on a precipice in politics and they couldn’t afford the insecurity it would breed between them all.

 When he gave them his authority to wed in secret, it was all the acknowledgement required.

  
  



End file.
